


Dance With Me

by paintingsinthedark



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Marriage Proposal, just one censored f slur, not a big mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24781411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintingsinthedark/pseuds/paintingsinthedark
Summary: A cute fluffy one-shot based on the prompt "dance".
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	Dance With Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty old, so it's not as clear-cut as I might like, but I'm putting it on here anyways.

“Dance with him,” Mommy says, so I ask how. “Hold hands,” she instructs, so we do. “Now sway,” she tells us. “ _Feel_ the music.” Beethoven’s 9th Symphony plays in the background. We sway, and _feel_ the music as best as two four year olds can. 

~

“Dance with me?” The pinata has been killed, and we are high on sugar. It is his eighth birthday, and the radio plays the newest hits. I grab his hand, and we dance, the epitome of awkwardness. Despite this, we are giddy with joy.

~

“Daniel,” he says. I can feel him whisper into my ear, and it’s weird. “Will you dance with me?” He is cautious, and rightfully so. It is middle school, the seventh grade dance. We are twelve. Songs that are just past popularity play from the DJ’s table in the cafeteria. Preteens swarm around us, hyped on sugar that the school is making a profit on. A bit scared, I agree. 

~

“Dance with me,” he asks. He is sitting on my bed, on his phone. “Sure,” I say, the concession falling easy from my lips. After a brief argument over whose Spotify account to use (premium or no premium?), he turns on the music. We clamber off the bed and I take his hand. We’ve danced a lot over the years, but here, in my bedroom, weeks from my sixteenth birthday, is the first time we slow dance. “Darling, you look wonderful tonight,” he sings softly into my hair. I laugh, because I am well aware that my hair is rumpled and I’ve been in my pajamas for hours. Later that night, right before I drift off, I will feel him press a kiss to the top of my head, although I won’t remember it come morning.

~

“Dance with me,” he says, and I do not know how to reply. It is junior prom, and I have a girlfriend. I am hesitant. It has been three months since I was called f*ggot and this is a long streak.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“I understand,” he replies, smiling.

If I wasn’t his best friend I wouldn’t have seen the sadness behind it, but I am. Later that night I find my girlfriend, behind the bleachers, kissing someone else. I find Anthony. “I’ll dance with you,” I say. His smile is comparable to starlight. 

~

‘Dance with me,’ I think. I am sitting on my couch. The first thing I did upon turning twenty-one was purchase the liquor that I’m currently downing, straight from the bottle. ‘Dance with me, Daniel, so you can fall in _love_ with me even though I’m _straight_ as a Fucking _RUler_ . _SlowDnce_ with me, Daniel, because I’m _Anthny,_ and I’ve got kissable lips and am _taller_ than yuo and vvvveeeerrrrrryy hot. And I have _gurlfrends."_

“Uh-oh,” a voice that sounds suspiciously like Anthony’s comes from behind the couch. “Daniel, Dan, Danny-boy, what are you doing? You are so drunk. How did you drink all of this?”

“ _Skillz_ ,” I say, “And I’m _NOT_ Drunnnk!”

“Come on, octopus,” he tries to soothe. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“No! ‘M not tired!” I can feel my eyes shutting as he lifts me into his arms, but I make an effort to resist anyways. “Nnnooo,” I whine, “I don’t wanna go to bed. I only wanna sleep with _yyyooouuu…._ ”

“Okay, okay. Cuddles it is, then.” I find myself deposited on his bed, and before I can protest that cuddles is not what I was saying I wanted, I find myself drifting off, Anthony as the big spoon behind me.

~

“Dance with me,” he suggests, late one night. Our living room is empty and the only light is from the candles we’ve lit, because the power is out again.

“Mmm,” I say. “‘M tired.”

“Yeah, me too. Just one dance? For me?”

“Fine,” I reply, knowing that I can’t say no to Anthony. I never have been able to.

We are twenty five, and I know that after we finish our master’s, we’ll probably move out, find our own places. I don’t want to. His chin is resting on top of my head as we spin, no music playing, just a rhythm we’ve memorized over twenty one years of friendship.

“Danny,” he says.

“Mmhmm?” “I know you don’t reciprocate, and I don’t want to ruin our friendship, but I think I might be the tiniest bit in love with you.”

Our rhythm falters, my spin spins out of his hands and onto the couch.

“You’re...straight? I thought you were straight? Since when have you not been straight? Since when have you been in _love_ with me?” I’m freaking out, I know I’m freaking out. I’m doing the word vomit thing again.

“Since we were fifteen! I’ve known I’m not straight and also in love with you since we were fifteen! How did you think I was straight?” “I don’t know! You never date boys! You go on countless dates with girls?”

“I go on _coffee dates_ to tutor failing students in bio!”

“Oh. Why don’t you think I reciprocate?!” I’m indignant and very, very, confused as my worldview is crashing down around me. Oh, look, there’s another section now. BOOM!

“Because _you’re_ straight!” He’s clearly more confused than I am.

“Dude, Anthony! I’ve been gay as a maypole since the day I came out of my mum! Gay runs in the family! We’re all gay! Mum, Mom, and Me!”

“Oh,” he says, like he had no clue. “I had no clue.”

“Well,” I say. “I do, by the way, reciprocate. Just so you know.”

“Oh,” he says again. Hesitant, this time. “Um. Is it too early to make out with you? Do I need to ask you out first? Take you on a date?”

“I like the makeout idea,” I say, making grabby hands at him. “I like it a lot.”

~

“Dance with me,” he says. “Let’s christen our apartment, where we have working power all the time and water that runs warm when you want it to.”

“Okay,” I say.

We’ve finished our degrees, and gotten jobs. We’ve made enough money to finally (finally!) move out of our crappy college apartment and into a nice one. This one, like the old one, has two bedrooms. Unlike the old one, there’s a bedroom that belongs to Anthony and me, together. There’s also a guest bedroom, because that’s a thing proper adults have, and although we are thirty, we are far from proper adults. We’re working on it, though.

“I love you,” he says to my hair.

“I love you too,” I muffle into his shirt.

“I love you too,” I say again, dislodging his head and looking up at him. He leans down, and I can feel his smile against my lips.

~

“Dance with me,” I say.

“No,” he says, and when I turn to face him, he is kneeling against the backdrop of city that lies outside our living room windows. I don’t care about the view of the city, but I definitely care about the ring in his hand.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I sniffle, “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

“Let me ask the question, Daniel!”

“No, no, no,” I say. He sighs, smiling.

“Daniel Robert Peterson,” he says.

“I do!” I interrupt.

“Will you marry me?” We’re both smiling and crying and things like that when he slides the ring onto my finger. I am thirty four, and I am engaged, and I am quite happy. Kisses take us off the floor, because I joined him at some point, and to our bedroom, and what happens afterwards is for you to inference, but not to know explicitly. :). 

~

“Dance with him,” she says.

“I know, Mom!” I smile at Anthony as we dance, and he smiles back.

This dance floor is for just us right now, but later it will be filled with people, and then after that, it will be filled with drunk people, as his parents have paid for an open bar.

At some point, his brother will stand up, and proclaim that “Dancing has always been a part of Anthony and Daniel’s life. They’ve been best friends since they were four, and have been dancing just as long. It’s only fitting, then, that this reception is filled with as much of it as possible. For those of you who ‘aren’t dancers’, there’s an open bar, so at some point I can guarantee you will be. But for now, dance away!”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please leave kudos and/or comments. They're suprisingly motivating.


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